


A Promise to Start

by skinsharpenedteeth (Gavinscotts)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Future Assassin Training, Omega Derek Hale, Secret Werewolf Stiles, Slave Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gavinscotts/pseuds/skinsharpenedteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a drabble I wrote for Sterek AU Fest. Stiles is a renowned slave trainer for the wealthy. Derek is his newest slave brought to Stiles by the Argents. When Stiles finds out Derek is an omega werewolf, he promises to train him in more than just the ways of a body slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise to Start

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble I wrote for Sterek AU Fest. I wish it was longer and I wish I had the time to really plan this out because I love slave AU's, but alas, Life is Happening and I need to finish up Mating Moons before I move forward. I hope you like it!
> 
> Not Beta'd. Feel free to leave me a note.

The room stank of sweat, blood, and tears. The yellowed stone walls were cold and rough, hard to lean against comfortably as they seemed to prick and stick to anything that was pushed against them, skin included. Stiles sat at a small wooden table near the doorway, peeling his apple leisurely with his knife as he waited for work to come. The room had a couple candles to light it’s dark shadows, to highlight the rusted, dirty gleam of the manacles that had been set into the walls and floor. Stiles more punishing implements were set in an adjacent room waiting to be used when necessary. This room, however, looked more like a holding cell than a training center. The rushes and hay that was on the floor new and fragrant, conjuring up memories of the sun and open fields when pressed to the cheek, only to be forgotten once the coppery tang of blood was spilt upon it, soon followed by the musk of spunk. Stiles continued to eat his apple, the bright crisp flavor bursting in his mouth and wetting his tongue with its juice. 

A loud slap of leather on stone echoed through the quiet hallways in herald of the messenger approaching. The telltale hiss and grunt of a body being drug over the uneven stone floor followed it, further out. “Sir, a new candidate is here for you.” A fresh faced boy announced, blood flushing his face from his hurry to arrive before the “new candidate”. 

“He’s a slave, Liam. Just a slave. We’ll see if he’s a ‘candidate’ after he gets here.” Stiles replied lazily, cutting another apple into chunks and setting them down on his plate. He didn’t even look up to register the boy’s confused, affronted look at being corrected. “Go get me some water and a rag.”

“Yes, sir” Liam replied, his voice toying with the edge of incivility before he turned foot and ran back down the hall and off a side shoot in order to obey Stiles command. Stiles was only a mere slave trainer, but his talents at creating profitable, successful body slaves was renowned. He trained for kings and commoners alike, albeit only the wealthy commoners could afford to buy a slave in the first place. The truly wealthy commoners with aspirations towards aristocracy were the ones who went to the trouble of paying for a slave only to put them into Stiles care for the year it would take to train them. Generally, Stiles trained for royalty (At his current location. He had a smaller, more intimate studio where they whispered the name “Genim” for his work in training concubines, professional mistresses, consorts, and courtesans). 

The lumbering gate of two men carrying the newest slave for Stiles’ attentions drew nearer, cursing to themselves as they drug what sounded like a very hefty load between them. Stiles remained impassive as he sipped his wine and waited patiently. 

“Sir, the water and rag you requested.” Liam announced, stepping quickly into the room and looking around for a place to set down the basin and ewer before he could leave. Finding no where but the table where Stiles sat with his apples and wine, Liam waited for further instruction. 

“Set it near the fire on the floor to warm. Then you’re dismissed.” Stiles instructed, waving a hand towards the small, cheerfully burning fireplace set into the far wall. It wasn’t large and didn’t provide much warmth to the stone surrounding it, but it kept Stiles from having to bring in a brazier. Liam did as he was instructed and then went to leave the room, pausing in the doorway. 

“Excuse me, sir, but shouldn’t I stay to observe the beginning of training? I am your apprentice, after all.” Stiles slowly raised his eyes to Liam, who shrank back at the look on Stiles’ face. 

“You will learn when I deign to teach you and not when you are merely present. I dismissed you because I am not going to teach you this today. Go home and hope that I do not decide to forego teaching you at all.” Stiles replied slowly, his voice threaded with violence and pique at the young man’s insolence. Liam swallowed visibly and nodded, bowing once before shuffling back out of the room and away. Stiles watched after him and once again regretted bringing such an insufferable creature under his tutelage. 

Minutes later, the two men finally made their way through to his room. They were hulking, giant men who were more muscle than brain and between them a gold and sable slave hung limply from where they hauled him with their meaty hands under his arms. Stiles stood and moved to stand in front of them, waiting.

“This is a request from the Argent’s. They would like to employ your services in training a new slave. Double your usual fee.” One of the men croaked, eyes boring down on Stiles with contempt and disgust. “Is he likely to be problematic?” Stiles asked, not daring to glance at the man who would be his next project. Twice his normal salary was a king’s ransom and there had to be a reason why it was offered up front instead of requested upon incident. The hulk who’d mouthed the Argent’s request shrugged, jostling the dark head of the unconscious body. 

“I’m going to examine him. Hold him upright.” Stiles instructed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get any more details out of the men concerning the new slave. 

“Will you train him?” the other man asked, not moving to help his cohort lift the dead weight in order to stand him up. 

“I don’t know yet. Let me inspect him first. I’m not going to lose my fee because you drug some pox-ridden street tom in here.” Stiles replied, his gaze turning cool. He and the brute stared at one another for a moment, challenging each other over the slave’s head. Finally, the brute remembered that his place was beneath Stiles and he lowered his eyes angrily, pulling roughing on his side of the slave in order to stand him up. 

Stiles tried to remain objective with his slaves, aloof and clinical in his observations from beginning to end. The rag doll standing only aided by his attendants in front of him made his mouth water and go dry at the same time. He was beautiful. His body was moderately muscled, obviously well-nourished and exercised regularly. He had golden skin that glinted alluringly even through the obvious layer of dirt and dark, black hair that furred his belly, chest, legs and thatch above his groin. His cock was thick even when limp, hanging uncut and of promising length between his legs. His feet were long and wide, the toes straight. Stiles looked up and saw the square, capable cut of his hands only marginally callused. Walking around to the back, he appreciated the muscles in the shoulders and looked curiously at the triskele tattoo in the middle of his back. Letting his eyes drop, Stiles stepped forward and placed his hands on the man’s ass, spreading the cheeks to reveal the tight furl of his hole. He pressed gently with a finger and was pleased to find the muscle firm and unyielding. He preferred the new slaves to be unsullied where their new master’s might someday choose to invade them. He liked to be the one to train them how to maintain their bodies for pleasure. 

Stiles walked back around to the front, finally lifting the man’s face. The man looked mad and challenging even in apparent unconsciousness. Stiles thought he looked like a man of high birth; his resting expression commanding attention and acquiescence. Stiles sniffed experimentally, leaning closer to the man’s hair and picking up just the faintest trace of sage through the oil and dirt. It happened sometimes, rich people brought low through war or debt. Stepping back, Stiles let his eyes sweep once more over the man. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Stiles demanded, still looking over every available inch of the body before him. 

“He’s a werewolf” the first hulk croaked. Stiles’ felt his eyes betray him, widening slightly as he took in everything before him as if it were new. 

“Triple the price or no deal.” Stiles countered finally, stepping back behind his desk and taking a seat again. 

“Fine.” The man agreed, instantly making Stiles wish he’d asked for more money. The two men hauled the unconscious Were behind Stiles and fixed the manacles around his arms and wrists. Then the second brute slammed a large bag of coin down on the table in front of Stiles. 

“This is half. You’ll get the second half at six months after he’s inspected.” He said, holding Stiles eye while he said it. Stiles nodded silently, his teeth gritting to keep him from venting his spleen to lackeys. He’d be sending a well-worded note to the Chris Argent later about professionalism and standard conduct. Stiles was still biting his tongue after the men had left the room. Shaking himself out, he turned and looked at his newest challenge. 

Stiles walked over and crouched near the Were. He’d obviously been given a powerful sedative to keep him out for this long. Lifting the man’s chin, Stiles looked at him squarely. A dark, low rumbled vibrated through the room. The growl running over both men’s skins even as one struggled to resist reacting to it. When the Were opened his eyes, Stiles noted that they glowed a brilliant blue and the rage behind them burned red. Ceasing his growling, Stiles smiled indulgently even as his kept his grip on the man’s chin steady. 

“I’m your Alpha now. I’m going to train you to do everything I say and then everything they say. Then I’m going to train you how to kill them all and get away with it.” Stiles said, his voice full of raw energy and malevolence. His eyes burned red, pinning the lesser wolf in place. It was obvious that the Were beneath him hated him for what he said, but even so Stiles watched his lift his chin of his own accord and bear his neck in submission. Leaning forward, Stiles gently set his teeth over the arching throat in a symbolic gesture of dominance. When he backed up, the man lowered his chin and stared at Stiles, anger still evident on his features. 

“What’s should I call you, omega?” Stiles asked, taking the other wolf’s bluntly inflamed attitude in stride. 

“Derek” the omega replied, his voice higher than Stiles would have expected but no less pleasing for it. 

“Well, Derek…” Stiles started, letting his eyes blatantly roam over the body before him with libidinous praise, “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“If you touch me, my pack will rip you apart.” Derek snarled, his canines elongating in a flash. Stiles hand whipped to grip the back of the omega’s head, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he tightened his fist and pulled the head back to expose the long, corded skin of Derek’s throat. He held the omega’s hair tight, keeping him still even as he hissed through his teeth. Even though the shackled Were outweighed him in muscle, Stiles was an Alpha. He would always be able to subdue a lesser wolf. 

“I already told you, pup, that I. Am. Your. Alpha. Now. You belong to me and no other pack can come back to claim you. I’ll mark you if I have to, but I’d really rather you just give in right now and spare me the trouble.” Stiles repeated through clenched teeth. Another snarl loosed itself from Derek’s throat and Stiles reacted as nature dictated. His teeth were closing around the Were’s throat before he realized what he was doing. He felt the warm, wet swell of blood flood his mouth as his jaw began to squeeze, threatening to close off the omega’s airway. A high, pained whine sounded above him, but Stiles kept his teeth dug in until he felt the omega’s body relax suddenly beneath him, pliant and submitting. He gently removed his teeth from the man’s neck, but didn’t back away so his breath continued to brush over the angry edges of the wound. 

“Who is your Alpha?” Stiles growled out, waiting for the man to answer. 

“You are.” A tremulous voice answered above him. Stiles shook his hand, banging the man’s skull into the stone wall. 

“SAY IT WITH CONVICTION!” Stiles bellowed, resting his teeth against the wounds as if to bite down again if the omega didn’t do as he asked. 

“YOU ARE! YOU ARE MY ALPHA!” the omega yelled, hate evident in the way he said it, but heart belying no lies either. 

“Good boy.” Stiles cooed, backing away and letting go of the man’s hair. He pet the back of his head soothingly as he stared into the man’s eye again.

“I promise you that you will have your vengeance. This insult will not be tolerated. But for a year, your ass is mine. You are a slave, omega. You will learn how to be a body servant for the Argent’s, but I will also teach you how to kill without claws or teeth. You will be able to rid our kind of the scourge of Hunter’s. I will teach you how to dole out pleasure and pain in equal measure. Then when it is all done and you are released from my care, you will have your pittance. Is this acceptable, omega?” Stiles asked, his eyes never leaving the now hazel ones before him. The Were was calming himself, finding his control. 

“Yes, Alpha. I accept the terms.” He replied, his voice rough from the pain that no doubt still lingered in his wounds on his throat. Alpha wounds were not quick to heal. 

“Good. I will unlock your shackles and we will begin tomorrow. Wash yourself and then eat. Tonight we will rest, for the next year there will be little between us but work.” The Were nodded, his eyes serious and his expression set. Stiles didn’t know his story yet, but he would. He would own this omega before the year was out and it was to him that he would return with the blood of his victories still wet on his hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on TUMBLR! I'm [SkinSharpenedTeeth](http://skinsharpenedteeth.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Kudos are silent high fives that I appreciate more than life! Comments are better.


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